Slave Labour
by PseudonymHere
Summary: Merlin gets caught by slave traders. Angst and Whump! GWAINE! (Because we all know he rocks). I don't own. T 'cause whump. No slash! UPDATE! I'm sort-of rewriting this because I hate the ending. So there will be a better, longer version up soon. Probably.


_**Hey people. This one-shot nearly killed me. I had the idea while reading a different fanfic, and it was only supposed to be a small little one-shot thing with no magic reveal or anything. Just Merlin getting whump and angst. But there were so many scenes that just wanted to be in here and so many other things that wanted to happen and suddenly, before I knew it, I had this one-shot that might actually have more words than my other story with actual chapters.**_

_**I Don't Own Merlin**_

Merlin smiled. He was out picking herbs for Gaius, who had been running short lately.

He wandered aimlessly through the woods. Whenever Gaius sent him to get herbs, he always took a few extra minutes to just relax, enjoy himself, rest a bit.

Because he really deserved it.

Not that he was bitter or anything, it was just that he hadn't gotten a really good, full nights sleep in... He didn't know how long. Probably before he had come to Camelot, Merlin reflected.

And that was why Merlin enjoyed picking herbs the most out of all of his chores.

Letting his feet lead him, Merlin lost track of time as he wandered the trees aimlessly.

Soon it was sundown, and Merlin knew that some people would be worried by now. Gathering the herbs he had managed to find, he quickly headed back to Camelot.

He had gone a long way, though, and probably wouldn't make it back before sundown.

Merlin sighed. _So much for relaxing,_ he thought sadly.

He focused his steps on getting him back home as fast as he could.

So focused was he that he failed to notice the footsteps following him.

That is, until they were right next to him. But by then it was already too late.

The last thing Merin remembered was an ugly mans face, covered in a scraggly brown beard and countless scars.

Then he went down, and knew no more.

***

Merlin groaned. He had a terrible headache and couldn't remember where he had gotten it.

Casting his mind back, he remembered.

_Just recovering from Morgana's second attack on Camelot and the emotional strains, nobody was smiling. Gaius was overworked, treating all of the injured from Morgana's ill-fated reign as 'Queen', and still attempting to get over it himself._

_He was running out of herbs, and sent Merlin to go pick some._

_Merlin had left, glad for the excuse to avoid washing the Prat's socks._

_After picking all he could find, Merlin had gotten rather distracted, wandering the forest, relaxing for the first time in weeks._

_When he realized the time, Merlin rushed back to Camelot_

_So focused was he on getting home in time, he failed to notice the ugly man creeping up on him, until it was too late._

_Right before he was clubbed 'round the head, Merlin looked at his attacker and thought_ 'Well, this isn't good.'

Merlin, remembering, blinked his eyes open.

He was laying on the leafy ground, a fire crackling near his head. The ugly man who had clubbed him was leaning up against a nearby tree, watching Merlin intently.

Groaning, Merlin tried to sit up, muttering, "Where am I? And who are you?"

Lightning fast, the man's face contorted in rage, and he reached over and slapped Merlin's face.

"Don't speak unless spoken to, you idiot. Every good slave knows that." Scarface (as Merlin started calling him in his head) growled.

"I'm not a slave!" Merlin exclaimed, rubbing his cheek.

Snarling, Scarface punched Merlin's arm. Merlin decided he had anger management issues.

"Then we'll just have to fix that, won't we?" Scarface sneered.

Merlin did not like the sound of that.

At all.

***

A month later, Merlin's name had been changed to Tom, because his master couldn't be bothered to remember his real one.

Master was not very good to Merlin, or any of the other slaves in his possesion, who were all named Tom too.

The food they got was barely enough to keep them going, and some of the more fragile ones didn't make it. Merlin didn't want to know what Master did to the bodies...

Each of the slaves was flogged at least once a day, for doing something 'wrong'. Nothing anyone ever did was perfect, in the eyes of Master.

One day he would say he always wanted an omlete for breakfast, and the next, when an omlete was prepared for him, he would beat the unwitting slave and order that his breakfast be bacon.

It was a rough cycle.

Master had hired a brute to do all of his flogging, so that he could just sit back and enjoy the tourtured screams.

It was sick.

Merlin had learned quickly that his sterling wit was not to be appreciated here. He hadn't uttered more than a respectful 'Yes, Master' or 'No, Master', for so long, he wasn't sure he would be able to say anything else.

For the first week or so, Merlin had been sure that Arthur was coming, that he would be saved from this Hellish nightmare.

But soon, this faint hope was beaten out of him. They were in a kingdom far, far away from Camelot, so even though Arthur was sure to send out search parties, they would never find him.

Merlin tried not to let it get to him, but it still hurt, knowing that they would never come.

Master owned a tavern, and most of the time, Merlin and the other slaves were sent out to be the bartenders.

None of the slaves ever got more than a few hours sleep at a time, and they were all so painfully skinny it looked like they could be blown away in a strong gust of wind.

Indeed, this was a dream of many of Merlin's fellow slaves- to be blown away from here, to be free.

None of the tavern's patrons ever said anything about the poor conditions of the slaves.

They were too busy drinking.

***

It had been a year. A full year that Merlin had spent, growing skinnier and skinnier until he was just a wisp, barely there.

He had made no friends, because if Master caught you saying anything to another slave, he beat you.

That was one of the rules that you learned fast.

It was nearing winter, the time all of the slaves hated.

In the winter, they slept in the barn, with the cows, so as not to freeze to death. They were each given a ratty old worn out blanket.

But even so, winter was the time when most slaves perished. Merlin felt it in his bones- he would not last much longer.

He would die, soon. This winter, if nothing changed, he would join the number of slaves found frozen, in the snow, the cold lulling their tired bodies to rest. In a way, Merlin welcomed the death that lurked beside him, creeping ever closer.

It would mean that he could finally rest, get away from this place.

He could barely remember a time before this, a time where people were kind to him, called him Merlin instead of Tom, or just Slave.

A time where he had been warm, happy.

Had there ever really been such a time? Or had it all been a dream?

Had there really been a time where he was Emrys, greatest Warlock on Earth? Where he was  
best friends with a King, despite being just a farm-boy himself?

Merlin wasn't sure.

The thing he most hated about his Master, though, was the bracelet he was given.

It was nothing fancy, but it drove Merlin up the wall. It was a bracelet that subdued magic.

And Merlin suspected that it was part of the reason he would die.

Seeing as Merlin was Emrys, the very embodiment of magic, wearing a magic-subduing bracelet was not going to be good for him.

The bracelet was impossible for Merlin to remove. He had tried everything.

But it wouldn't come off. It was the only reason he was still here, and it was driving Merlin crazy.

He was at the point of biting off his own hand to get out of it.

But Merlin knew he was going to die soon anyway, so why die crippled?

No, the bracelet would stay on.

***

It was Merlin's turn to play 'bartender' in the tavern.

This was his favorite job, because the tavern was warm and had humans. It meant that Merlin could pretend, for a while, that he was interacting with actual people.

And the warmth that the tavern gave off was beautiful.

Merlin weakly moved through the rough bodies of men, his aim a table off in the corner. A brown-haired man with kind chocolate eyes had just sat down there and it was Merlin's job to collect orders and hand them off to the cooks.

"What do you want?" Merlin croaked, trying to sound hospitable.

"I'll have a tankard of mead, please." Said the stranger politely.

Merlin was surprised. Nobody had said 'please' to him in so long.

He decided he liked this man.

"Oh, and can I have an apple?" the man asked.

"Yeah. I'll go tell the cook." Merlin said, voice husky from the screams that came with being throttled on a daily basis.

He headed back to the kitchen, wondering why the man had seemed so familiar.

***

Gwaine was sitting in a strange tavern, waiting for someone to come up and ask him what he wanted.

When Arthur had finally called off the search parties for Merlin, Gwaine was infuriated. He felt that the action was just saying that Arthur was giving up on Merlin. And Gwaine would never accept that.

Gwaine had decided he needed some space, a bit of peace to properly grieve for his missing friend. A strange tavern in which to drown his sorrows.

So he had asked the King for a little leave, and Arthur granted it.

And now, here he was, sitting in a strange tavern, getting his well-needed space. And NOT thinking about Merlin. Yeah, right.

The pale, wisp-like young man who had come to take his order spoke, asking in a rough voice what he wanted.

Gwaine, who had seen the owner of the tavern beating a servant earlier, made an effort to be polite to the poor man.

Judging by the look of shock on the man's face, not many people bothered.

Smiling at Gwaine happily, the man hobbled off, obviously having an old leg injury bothering him.

"Oh, and can I have an apple?" Gwaine called off to the limping man, who turned back around and replied, "Yeah. I'll go tell the cook." in a husky, pain-filled voice.

Gwaine frowned as the man left his sight. Why had he seemed so familiar?

***

"I told you three hours ago to fetch me some water!" Master raged at Merlin, though he had said no such thing.

The rage of Master was a scary sight indeed. Foaming at the mouth, in his heavy boots made for stomping and armed with a whip, anyone would be afraid of this wall of fat and muscle.

Especially if he was leaning over their prone figure and beating them within an inch of their life.

"Why"_ crack_ "did_" crack_ "you"_ crack_ "disobey"_ crack_ "my"_ crack_ "direct"_ crack_ "orders?!" fumed the Master, who had drunk too much and was not in his right mind.

Tears streaming down his face, Merlin whimpered as each crack layed open his back to the cold snow.

Never before had Master been this horrid to him. Mostly he just handed them off to his henchman. Only on occasion did he ever take enough interest in the 'disciplinary proccedure' to actually do it himself.

The whipping went on for hours, what seemed like days for the helpless victim.

Merlin's screams filled the silent air, begging the Master to have mercy, to go away, but they fell upon deaf ears.

"You want me to_ go away_, you little brat?" Master sneered, "Fine, I'll_ go away_. I'll_ leave you alone,_ you worthless scum. Lets see how you survive the_ cold,_ shall we?"

True to his word, Master turned away, boots crunching the newly-fallen snow. Merlin listened as the footsteps got farther and farther away, only relaxing when he could no longer hear them.

In a rush, Master returned, kicking Merlin soundly in his side, cracking more than one rib.

"There's going to be a_ blizzard_ tonight, Tom. Stay warm!" Master cackled, walking away again, this time staying away.

_This is it,_ Merlin thought as his vision turned to black,_ I'm going to die_. He watched, lazily, as the snow piled on top of him, his hearing turning fuzzy.

Though he was soaked to the bone from the snow melting on him, he couldn't bring himself to care as he drifted off... to... sleep...

***

Gwaine frowned. He had been sleeping soundly in his 'camp', but something had woken him. What? What had woken Gwaine from his deep sleep?

Gwaine listened intently for the sound that woke him up. It happened again.

It was a scream.

Gwaine tumbled out of his bedroll in his rush to get to whoever was screaming. He had barely gotten his boots on his feet when the screaming came again, louder this time. Cursing, Gwaine forewent his gloves and charged into the snow.

The bone-chilling scream sounded again, closer this time, slightly to the right. Gwaine adjusted his course, stumbling upon a scene fit for nightmares.

The man who had served him earlier, the one who had reminded him unerringly of something, was being beaten. Brutally. It was his screams that had woken Gwaine from his sleep.

A rage filled Gwaine. What right did this man have, beating a person half to death? And Gwaine was suspecting some illegal slave trade going on here, too. What other reason would there be for this poor man to still be working for the violent brute in front of him?

It was when said violent brute left the poor slave to die in the snow that Gwaine's rage pinnacled and he took action.

Drawing his sword, the knight soon shocked the drunken savage with the lovely tip of his sword, and a powerful fist that knocked the man unconscious.

Telling himself that he would deal with the criminal later, Gwaine went forward to tend to the poor beaten slave. Anger grew in the knight as he realized that this wasn't the first time the poor man had been beaten within an inch of his life. Indeed, it seemed that he had endured this inhumane treatment every day for at least a year, based on the ugly scars covering the mans back.

Gently turning the poor lad over, to get a better look at his front - and to stop looking at his back - Gwaine gasped as he recognised the marred features of the beaten slave.

It was Merlin.

Gwaine saw red. A literal growl forming in his throat, he put Merlin down and turned to face the evil, depraved, revolting, vile excuse for a human being that had done this to his friend, his best friend.

Nobody messed with Merlin.

A quiet groan escaping from the boy's lips calmed Gwaine down from his rampage, if only enough to recognize that beating the ****** senseless would do nothing for Merlin.

Leaving the vile man in the snow (hopefully he would freeze in the blizzard, Gwaine thought) he took Merlin in his arms and carried him back to the small camp that he had set up earlier.

Even knowing nothing about healing like he did, Gwaine knew that Merlin was in bad shape. After a year of heavy abuse, who wouldn't be?

It looked like he had broken several ribs, plus the constant whippings and he seemed to be malnourished and possibly dehydrated. There was something wrong with his leg, but Gwaine had no idea what. He decided to let Gaius take a look at it, if they got back to Camelot. And on top of all that, he may have developed moderate hypothermia.

Gwaine had to get him warmed up. Placing Merlin as close as was safe to the already-existing fire, Gwaine rushed to his saddlebags and get out all of his extra blankets, piling them on top of Merlin. He then made an effort to make the fire bigger.

Gathering all spare clothes, Gwaine then bound Merlin's chest, both binding the ribs and his back. He melted some snow on the fire for when Merlin woke up, to help with the dehydration and made some mild soup for the starvation. All of this done, Gwaine fetched the still-out-of-it troll that had caused Merlin's problems.

Tieing the monster to a nearby tree, Gwaine could do nothing for Merlin now, except watch Merlin as the blue crept slowly but surely out of his skin, returning his complexion to its normal pale shade.

A while later, Merlin opened his eyes slowly and groaned softly. He winced as he breathed, the act disturbing his ribs. Someone had thoughtfully bound them, and his back.

"Nice to see you awake,_ Tom._" rasped a voice,_ that voice,_ the voice that now haunted his nightmares and his real life.

Merlin started, eyes widening in fear, fear that he had unwittingly done something punishable by the whip. The tone in Master's voice had been the same that always preceeded the horrid beatings.

"That's enough out of you, you evil, ruthless *******!" snarled another voice, a familiar, welcome voice that Merlin hadn't heard in at least year.

"G-Gwaine?" Merlin rasped, not knowing what to think. He had long ago given up hope of a rescue.

"Yeah, it's me, Merlin. Listen, you have to rest. You're still recovering from what I think was moderate hypothermia, and you've got at least two broken ribs, and you are most definitely malnourished and dehydrated. And there is something odd going on with your right leg. So just lay still and drink this." Gwaine finished, handing Merlin some water which was downed quickly.

"Thanks, Gwaine." Merlin said, voice grating against his always-sore throat. "For everything."

"You don't need to thank me, Merlin. It's what friends are for." Gwaine said, adding sadly, "I wish we could've found you before..."

"Gwaine," Merlin said as firmly as he could (which wasn't actually that firm), "It's not your fault. Don't beat yourself up over it. Just, can you get this d*** bracelet off?!"

Merlin had remembered the bracelet as he felt it chaffing against his wrist, not helping anything at all.

"Bracelet...? Oh, that bracelet. Merlin, that isn't a bracelet. That's a manacle. Actually..." Gwaine said as he leaned in closer,"That's a magic-suppressing manacle. Why are you wearing a magic-suppressing manacle, mate?"

"Cause 'e's a sorcerer, why else?" Master chimed in from his spot across the camp.

"Don't be an idiot, idiot," said Gwaine,"Merlin couldn't do magic if he tried."

Gwaine reached over to Master and grabbed the keys for the manacle from Master's grubby pocket. He handed them to Merlin, who unlocked them with slightly shaky hands.

When the manacle fell off of Merlin's thin wrists, he couldn't help but make an audible sigh of relief, both at the spring of his magic welling up inside of him and the disappearance of the cold metal pinch that had constantly been a persistent but minor discomfort for the past year.

"Thanks Gwaine. That's so much better." Merlin said.

After eating some of Gwaine's _(Actually edible! Miracles do happen sometimes, _Merlin thought in surprise) soup, and watching in vindictive pleasure as Master went hungry, Merlin's exhaustion caught up to him and he slipped into a dreamless sleep.

***

A few days later, after freeing the rest of the slaves and releasing Master into their revenge-intent grasp, Merlin (who was still very weak) and Gwaine were headed back to Camelot. Albeit slowly.

Painfully slowly.

Practically every half-hour, Gwaine would think up an excuse to force Merlin to get off his horse and rest for a few minutes.

And though Merlin protested, they both knew that he shouldn't have been traveling at all.

During one of their frequent rests, Gwaine broached a topic that had been bugging him for awhile.

"Merlin," he started, "I know how slave traders work, sadly, as I've had a few brushes with them myself. They are all selfish, greedy evil monsters. If you didn't need a magic-suppressing manacle, they wouldn't have given you one, because they do not come cheap. So the question is, why did you, of all people, have one?"

"Ahh. Errr. Well, you see... That's the thing. Um. Yeah. Well." Merlin said uncertainly. This was not really what he had pictured happening, not at all.

Mostly, the Knights just ignored all the signs of Merlin being a Warlock, because they just couldn't accept it. It wasn't congruent to their image of Merlin. Friendly Merlin, clumsy Merlin, loveable Merlin. Not Emrys Merlin, the Merlin who could kill in the blink of an eye, raze mountains, level cities. Not powerful Merlin.

Not Warlock Merlin.

But powerful warlock Emrys was Merlin, too. There was always a bit of Emrys showing when he was being Merlin, and always a bit of Merlin showing when he was Emrys.

It was enough to give anyone multiple-personality-disorder.

Now came the time Merlin had dreaded for a long, long time.

"Listen, Merlin. If you happen to be a sorcerer, I won't turn you in. Because that's what friends are for, sharing secrets. You can trust me." Gwaine spoke softly, insinct telling him that though the path around them was deserted, this was not something that should be shouted to the heavens.

"Um." Merlin wasn't sure what was keeping him from telling Gwaine that he was right, that Merlin was a warlock. Didn't he hate all of the secrecy, the lies? Why wasn't he telling Gwaine, telling about all of his misadventures, his mistakes? What was stopping him?

Merlin figured his time as a slave had made him timid. And the memories of the last knight who had known, Lancelot, rushed through his head. His mother, warning him to never tell, never ever ever, and Gaius, warning him against telling Morgana, all were there too, cautioning him against trust.

_But haven't I always hated this? Hated the not telling, never ever? Haven't I always wanted to just open my mouth and save a billion lives in one breath? Haven't I dreamed of this moment, the moment one of them put together all of the pieces of the puzzle that was me? What was wrong with me? Haven't I always wanted this?_

Merlin's thoughts were confused. It was too soon,_ too soon_ after escaping, suffering the befuddling effects of hypothermia and malnutrition.

Too _soon._

Before he knew it, Merlin was sobbing. Tears streaming down his face, he huddled in on himself, curling into the only person he knew he could trust, himself.

Gwaine was confused. He was just asking a simple question, and offering reasurences that nothing would change between them if he said 'yes', and suddenly, Merlin was curled onto the fetal position, weeping like his cat had died.

Knowing nothing Gwaine could say would do anything to actually comfort Merlin, Gwaine rested a hand on Merlin's shoulder, silently promising to be there for the possibly-sorcerer.

Later, Merlin, still sniffling, said, "Yeah, that's me. Merlin the Warlock. Sorry about the sudden tears. It's just- I've always been told, 'Never tell, ever.' And, the last one to know, was Lance. And we all know how well that went. Honestly, it scares me. You knowing, I mean. Just, the idea of letting another into the small circle of people who know, scares me. What if, the circle gets too big, and someone who is untrustworthy enters, and then I get burned? Literally," Merlin laughed, with no humor.

"It's not you, Gwaine. I was raised with this secret, clutching it to my chest since the crib. Going against a life-long habit like that, it's not easy. And of all the people who know, only three are still alive. I don't want you getting hurt for me."

Gwaine frowned at the pain in his friend. "When did you start learning magic?" he asked

"Well, actually, I'm something of an oddity. I was born with the magic, was levitating pots and slowing down time before I had spoken my first word. I didn't actually choose to learn this stuff, it just happened. I couldn't help it."

Gwaine nodded. "Ok. So now I've got a question I've been wondering for a long time. Can you magic mead? Like, create it from nothing?"

Merlin laughed. It was the first laugh he had given in a year.

On their way back to Camelot, Gwaine heard Merlin's whole life story, from the horses mouth. The good, the bad, and the ugly, Merlin told him, without reserve. But the one thing he refused to talk about, no matter how hard Gwaine tried, was the time he had spent under the whip of Master.

***  
Arthur was grieving. It wasn't obvious to those who didn't know him, but those who did could see the sadness in his eyes, the despair that meant that he knew his best friend was gone, probably dead, forever.

He wasn't the only one who felt this, though. Merlin knew everyone by name, from the tiniest baby to the oldest great-grandparent. Everyone knew the cheeky, sarcastic manservant, and had noticed his disappearance.

And without his bright smile to light up a room, Camelot seemed to have a cloud of depression hanging over it like a cloud. Not everyone had known him well, just a name and a face, and a few kind words occasionally. But everyone felt the loss, no matter how small.

The knights, Arthur, Gwen and Gaius, they knew Merlin best, saw him every day, knew his odd brilliant wisdom masked by a clumsy, happy, loveable exterior.

They were the ones who felt his not-thereness the most. And though everyone saw the sadness in the King's eyes and the Queen's heart, nobody mentioned it as the anniversary of Merlin's sudden disappearance drew near.

Gwaine had left Camelot, saying he didn't know how long he would be gone, but he needed some space. Now the Knights were without their favorite drunk and their little brother.

It seemed that this year wasn't going to be a good one.

One day, the King was visiting the Lower Town, when he saw a commotion by the gates. He made his way slowly through the packed streets to see one of the best scenes of his life.

Gwaine had returned. But that wasn't the best part.

Merlin was with him.

Merlin, the one everyone had thought was dead, never to come back, was sitting astride a horse led by Gwaine, looking very beat up but_ alive._

And that was all that mattered.

"Merlin?!" Arthur shouted, happiness exploding in his face in the form of a smile, a real, heartfelt smile that hadn't been seen in Camelot in a year.

And the smile got imposssibly bigger as Merlin turned his head and replied, "Hey, Arthur. Long time, no see, yeah?" with that goofy, carefree grin of his.

"Arthur, can you make these people go away? Merlin has got to get to Gaius, fast, and I can't move through people." Gwaine said.

Worry flooded Arthur. "What's wrong? People!" he shouted to the masses surrounding Merlin in a happy throng. "Move it!"

Clearing a path in front of Merlin and Gwaine, Arthur led the way.

Dismounting in the courtyard, the reins were handed off to a stable-boy and the party of three made their way to Gaius's chambers.

Arthur noticed Merlin limping, and the care that Gwaine was taking with the man's ribs and back as he helped Merlin along.

Then, he noticed that Merlin's clothes were even more ratty than normal, that he was painfully thin, that his complexion was paler, and that every visible space of skin had an aray of sickening bruises, all fading but some fresher than others.

"Merlin... What happened to you?" he asked, his ecstasy fading with these realizations.

Merlin just sent him a long, tired look, a sad look that seemed out-of-character for such a happy young man.

"Slave traders," ground out Gwaine angrily. "Found him in a tavern in the Northern Continent. Not pretty. I did all I could but we really ought to get Gaius to look at him."

Arthur's face was pale. "Slave traders?" he whispered to himself, knowing that his best friend must have faced pain and suffering beyond his wildest dreams.

"Not pretty," Merlin reiterated, firmly.

Now they were at Gaius's, and Arthur shoved the door open.

Gaius looked up, expecting to see just another new patient that Merlin couldn't help him with anymore. But what he saw was like something out of a dream.

It was Merlin.

And he was in bad shape.

Gaius did a quick once-over. When he saw Merlin's legs, he paled. "Merlin! Why on Earth are you even standing, much less walking?! Sit down! Right now!"

Merlin glanced at his right leg and frowned. "Oh yeah." He quickly sat down on the bed at Gaius's Eyebrow.

Merlin got an examination, Gaius practically going ballistic at the sight of Merlin's back, and Arthur sucking in a breath.

"I thought you could take care of yourself better than this! Surely you can set your own leg correctly?" Gaius scolded.

"Well I could have, but I never had time. If_ he_ had seen me trying to fix my leg properly,_ he _would probably just break my other one." Merlin said unhappily.

"He?" Gaius asked shrewdly.

"Master. I don't know his real name. I had a little run-in with some slave-traders, I guess you could say." Merlin said. Arthur and Gaius both noticed suddenly the way Merlin's voice was rough and grating. It was the voice of one who had faced much pain and horrors.

But it was the voice of someone who had lived through those horrors and was stronger for them. The voice of one who has come home after being gone for much too long.

It was Merlin's voice.

**_I hate this ending but I have been working on this thing for ages. If there is some interest, I might be able to churn out a better. longer ending, but this is what you're getting for now._**


End file.
